


be my rave bae?

by phantomfantaaa



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: ABG!Oikawa, College, Excessive Drinking, First Kiss, Fluff, Gay Panic, Getting Together, M/M, POV Iwaizumi Hajime, Rave, Recreational Drug Use, Slice of Life, UC Irvine!Iwaizumi, no beta no gods only chaos, please sponsor me whiteclaw camelbak and tiger balm, too many whiteclaws
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-27
Updated: 2020-10-27
Packaged: 2021-03-08 18:27:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,160
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27221197
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/phantomfantaaa/pseuds/phantomfantaaa
Summary: Oikawa visits Hajime over fall break and Hajime gets dragged to a rave. Add glitter, whiteclaw, and a pair of aqua blue shorts. Hijinks ensue.
Relationships: Iwaizumi Hajime/Oikawa Tooru
Comments: 11
Kudos: 65





	be my rave bae?

**Author's Note:**

> me: I should work on my multiple serious, angsty WIPs  
> my brain: haha rave oikawa go brrrrr  
>   
> cw: recreational MDMA usage, alcohol, and someone vomits from excessive drinking.  
>   
> [this is the set](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ubrLxJrtcX0) from Porter Robinson and Madeon's Shelter Tour that happens in this fic if you want to follow along! It's truly a masterpiece

“Ahhh I’m so excited, Iwa-chan!” 

Hajime smiles at the pixelated Oikawa on his laptop screen. “Me too. Only a few more weeks until you’re here.” He considers telling Oikawa how much he misses seeing him every day at the risk of inflating Oikawa’s already-massive ego, but before he can decide, his roommate bursts through the door.

“HAJIME. DUDE. Porteon just announced a tour and they’re coming to Irvine during fall break we gotta go!” His roommate, Kevin, announces in one breath without looking up from his phone. 

“What’s Porteon?” Hajime asks.

“Dude. Porter Robinson and Madeon?” 

Hajime stares blankly at Kevin.

“They’re like, two of the biggest EDM artists right now? They made that song Shelter that’s all over the radio?” 

Hajime continues to stare. 

“I think Porter even collabed with an anime studio in Japan for the Shelter music video,” Kevin continues, “Dude, you go to UC Irvine aka the birthplace of ABGs. How have you _not_ heard of Porter Robinson and Madeon?” 

Kevin is saying a lot of words and letters that Hajime has no hope of understanding. 

“Oooh, I love Shelter!” Oikawa’s voice comes through Hajime’s laptop speakers. 

“Sorry, I can’t. Oikawa is visiting that week,” Hajime thanks the gods for the convenient excuse.

“Aww Iwa-chan, can we go?? _Pleeeaaaseee?”_ Oikawa’s tinny voice begs. Hajime rolls his eyes— _of course_ Oikawa loves this kind of shit.

“Sick, I just got three tickets for us,” Kevin says, eyes still glued to his phone.

“What?!” Hajime exclaims simultaneously with Oikawa’s cheer. 

Kevin finally looks up from his phone. “Tickets were gonna sell out in, like, 5 minutes. Had to hop on ‘em,” he explains. At least he has the decency to look somewhat apologetic for the spur-of-the-moment decision that was made _without_ Hajime’s input. “Hey, we can invite Kim and Tiffany. I bet they’d be down to come with!”

“Who?”

“Bro. Kim Nguyen and Tiffany Tran? They live down the hall from us? I’m pretty sure Kim’s in CHEM33 with you, dude.” 

Hajime sighs. “I’m not getting out of this, am I?”

“No-pe!” Kevin and Oikawa pop the last syllable in unison.

A month later, Hajime finds himself walking down the hallway of his dorm with an overeager Oikawa in tow, searching for name signs that say “Tiffany Tran” and “Kim Nguyen”. He eventually finds the right room and opens the door to find what looks like the aftermath of a small tornado. There are two identical extra-long twin beds against the left and right walls, and two matching desks facing the window. Both closets are left wide open, and at least two dozen articles of clothing are strewn across the room. There’s a pile of assorted shoes in a corner near the door, and Hajime and Oikawa precariously wade through the mess. 

“Oh thank god, you guys are finally here,” Kevin cries out, eyes pleading. “Please save me. They’ve been doing their makeup for _three hours.”_

“Don’t be dramatic,” says one of the girls at the desks, “You’ve only been here for an hour.” 

The girls turn around and stand up to introduce themselves as Tiffany and Kim. Oikawa compliments Tiffany’s ombre highlights, and she glows under the praise.

“I like him,” she says with a wink, “You better watch out, Hajime. I might steal your boyfriend.” 

“Oh, no,” Hajime sputters, “We’re not dating.” 

“Oh.” Both Tiffany and Kim look surprised, and they glance at Kevin who shrugs his shoulders. 

Hajime doesn’t know what’s going on between the trio, but it’s awkward as hell right now. 

“Um, I like your bracelets,” he attempts, pointing at the beaded bands lining Kim’s arm. 

“Thanks!” Just like that, the air shifts back into normalcy. “It’s called kandi! You trade them with people at raves. Here, I have a bunch of extra supplies—you and Oikawa can make some!”

“First though, we need to do something about _this,”_ Tiffany gestures vaguely at Hajime and Oikawa. 

“What?” Hajime asks.

“Your clothes, dude,” Kevin laughs, “You can’t go to a rave dressed like this. 

Hajime glances down at his outfit: khaki cargo shorts, a plain black t-shirt, and his well-loved running shoes. Simple and unassuming, how Hajime likes to be.

“What’s wrong with my clothes?”

“It’s going to be really hot in the venue. Plus, you’ll stick out like a sore thumb with that fit,” Kim explains. 

“Well, what are you wearing?” Oikawa asks the girls.

They point to an unoccupied chair with a set of lingerie draped over the back—it mostly looks like a mess of black and _very_ see-through lace. 

Kevin bursts out in laughter. “Hajime, dude, you should see your face right now. Don’t worry, it’s usually only girls who wear skimpy shit like that. Usually, guys wear a basketball jersey or something.” 

Hajime looks over at Kevin, who is indeed wearing a Lakers jersey and black Adidas track pants with the signature three white lines on the sides. He can probably find a pair of pants like that in his large collection of athleisure wear, but he doesn’t own a basketball jersey. 

He voices the thought out loud.

Tiffany taps a manicured finger against her chin, and then her face lights up.

“I think I have something you can borrow that might work!” She digs in her closet and emerges, brandishing what looks like a small fishing net. She throws it at Hajime, and he slowly unravels the mass of fabric to reveal a short-sleeve mesh shirt with a hood and front pocket, both of which are solid fabric instead of mesh. 

It looks ridiculous. 

Hajime scrunches his nose. “I am _not_ wearing this. This shouldn’t even count as an article of clothing.”

“Noooo it’ll look so good!” the girls plead.

“Bro, I’ve seen you at the gym. You’ve got killer arms. You’re holding out on us, dude!” Kevin chimes in. “A rave is the perfect place to show off that bod of yours.” 

Hajime blushes and shakes his head. It’s so different from the culture he grew up with—in SoCal, the skin-to-clothing ratio is much greater, and he can wear shorts and a t-shirt to class and still have it be considered modest. 

“Pleaaaasee,” Oikawa interrupts his thoughts, “can you wear it? It’ll look great on you.” 

“Fine.” Hajime sighs. Oikawa smiles at him, and Hajime silently curses how whipped he is. 

“What should I wear?” Oikawa is giddy with excitement. 

“What’s your general style?” Kim asks. 

“Hey! How come Oikawa gets to wear something that fits his style while I have to wear this monstrosity?” Hajime demands. 

Oikawa snorts. “Because I actually have a sense of style, while you just wear jeans and band t-shirts every day.” Oikawa pats his shoulder, face dripping with mock sympathy. “It’s okay. Not everyone can have a great sense of fashion like me.” Oikawa turns to the girls. “You choose for me! Everything looks good on me.” 

Hajime rolls his eyes and ignores Oikawa, opting to sit on one of the beds with Kevin, who hands him a mango whiteclaw. He pops the tab and half-heartedly converses with Kevin as Oikawa and the girls chat and laugh over outfit options. At some point, Oikawa runs out of the room with a hasty explanation of “I have something that can go with this, I’ll be right back!” and five minutes later, he returns. 

Hajime might pass out.

Oikawa enters in a white crop top, showing off his professional athlete-grade abs, and aqua blue shorts. Hajime squints—Oikawa is wearing their _old Seijoh volleyball uniform shorts._ He can’t believe they still _fit_...barely. Oikawa’s backside has definitely gotten bigger since high school—the team used to mercilessly tease him for having a flat ass—and his thighs are more toned, and his legs look so much longer, and _holy shit_ _were their uniform shorts always this short?_

Hajime struggles to swallow a mouthful of whiteclaw. “Are those...from our old uniform?” The still-functioning part of his brain notes that his voice is several pitches higher than usual.

“You bet!” Oikawa turns to show off that ridiculous ass and those ridiculous legs. 

“Why did you even bring those!?” Hajime chokes on the hard seltzer. 

“I don’t know, I thought they might come in handy. And they did!” 

Kim interrupts Hajime’s gay panic. “Oikawa, I have something that will complete your look!” She passes Oikawa some white ribbons and shows him how to wrap them around his legs in a criss-cross pattern. 

Great. Now Oikawa has these fucking ribbons that hug and accentuate every goddamn muscle in his long-ass legs. Hajime downs the rest of his mango claw in one gulp.

“I’m gonna...go back. To my room. To find pants.” Hajime flees and takes a deep breath once he safe in the empty hallway. He tries to focus on finding track pants to go with the mesh nightmare on his torso, and he eventually returns to Tiffany and Kim’s room with a complete outfit. 

The boys continue pregaming while the girls apply false eyelashes, and Oikawa even makes a few plastic bead bracelets. Hajime thinks the girls are finally done once the last lash is glued in place, but he is unfortunately mistaken.

“Now, the most important part of a rave fit: glitter!” 

Oikawa immediately launches off the mattress, nearly spilling alcohol all over the sheets. He excitedly points at the shimmering colors, and the girls use a makeup brush to apply streaks of sparkles along Oikawa’s cheekbones.

“Iwa-chan!” Oikawa turns to Hajime, and Hajime tries to not stare at the way the glitter makes Oikawa’s face shine. “What color do you want?”

Hajime shakes his head. “No thanks, I’m gonna pass on the glitter.” 

“What? Noooo,” Oikawa pouts, “You should put some on to match with me! You gotta—it’s a _rave!”_

“A month ago, you didn’t even know what a rave _was,_ Shittykawa.” 

“But now I have my rave moms to teach me everything!” 

“Come on dude, it’s fun!” Kevin cuts into their banter, “Even I’m wearing some!” Kim is, indeed, applying streaks of glitter along Kevin’s cheeks in a similar style as Oikawa’s. 

Hajime finally relents—a common occurrence—and allows Oikawa to apply glitter on his face. Oikawa gets close, like _really_ close, and uses a brush with what almost feels like hushed reverence. Hajime holds his breath, and his eyes drop to Oikawa’s lips—just slightly parted, tongue barely peeking out in concentration. They look soft as hell, and _oh god_ _why does Hajime feel so hot all over despite the_ _lack of proper clothes on his body._

Hajime sharply inhales and scrambles back on the bed. “Uh, I think that’s enough glitter for now.” 

“Oh, before I forget!” Kevin exclaims, oblivious to Hajime’s second gay panic of the day. He pulls a tiny plastic baggie of white pills from his pocket.

“What’s that?” Oikawa asks. 

Kim grins. “Ecstasy, E, molly, MDMA, methylenedioxymethamphetamine. Whatever you wanna call it, it’s the most common rave drug. It makes your body feel super floaty and everything feels really intense and you get all happy.”

“Yeah, this shit’s pure. Tested it yesterday.” Kevin shakes the bag. “No pressure if you don’t want to, but I got enough for all of us.”

“Don’t you get drug tested regularly?” Hajime asks Oikawa. 

“It’s fine, I just got tested last week so the next test won’t be for at least another month,” Oikawa replies, “It’ll be clear out of my system by then.”

Hajime nods. He’s studied MDMA in O-Chem, so he knows the risks and side effects. He also knows that he doesn’t want to deal with Oikawa on molly while he’s sober, so he takes a pill from Kevin and swallows it dry.

“Okay, as rave mom, it is my sworn duty to make sure that everyone stays safe,” Tiffany declares, “I’ll make sure that everyone is well hydrated”—she pats an empty Camelbak on her desk—“and I’m bringing a few packs of gum so you don’t grind your teeth. Now, eat up.” She passes around a bag of tangerines, and everyone dutifully grabs a few.

“It’s important to make sure you eat extra Vitamin C before you roll. It’ll suppress the generation of hydroxyl radicals and other neurotoxins,” Kim explains.

Hajime nods—he vaguely remembers learning about this in CHEM33—while everyone else stares at her blankly. 

“Can you say that in, like, basic terms for the rest of us who aren’t pre-med?” Kevin says. 

Kim rolls her eyes. “It’ll make your hangover suck less. Just trust us on this one.”

A few more whiteclaws and a number of Hennesy shots later, they finally pile into an UberXL. No one wanted to sit in the front (definitely the most awkward seat option in an Uber), so Hajime gets squished against the car door with Oikawa and Kevin in the middle row, and Tiffany and Kim opt for the back.

Halfway through the ride, Oikawa turns to Hajime. “Hold out your hand.” 

“Why?”

“You ask too many questions, Iwa-chan.”

“Because you do too many stupid things.”

“Just do it, Iwa-chan.” 

Hajime holds out his hand, palm up, and Oikawa guides him until two fingers are held up in a peace sign. Oikawa mirrors the gesture and gently places his fingertips against Hajime’s.

“Here, just copy me.” He then curves his hand, and Hajime follows so they form a heart together, and then Oikawa interlaces their fingers. 

Oikawa picks through the strands of multi-colored beads stacked on his arm. He selects one with alternating white and aqua beads then pulls it over their joined fists and slides it onto Hajime’s wrist. Oikawa finally releases Hajime’s hand, and Hajime twists his arm to read the letters etched onto the plastic beads.

_Rule The Court_

“The girls taught me! When you make a new friend at a rave, you trade bracelets. But you can keep this one for free since I’m so nice to you,” Oikawa explains with a grin.

Hajime nods. “Thank you, Oikawa.”

Once they arrive, they make their way through security without any problems, and before they know it, they’re in a massive, standing-only auditorium. There’s a sea of people before them, strobe lights beam across the otherwise dark room, and the music is so loud that it makes Hajime’s teeth vibrate.

It is extremely overwhelming, to say the least. 

Oikawa pokes Hajime’s shoulder. “I have to pee. Come with me.” 

“Go yourself. It’s your fault for not going to the bathroom before we left the dorms.” 

“But I’ll get lost,” Oikawa whines. 

“Then hold it in.”

“Iwa-chan, mean!”

Tiffany claps her hands together, the kandi bracelets rattling against each other. “Rave mom rule number one,” she yells over the blaring music, “We all stick together at all times, and no one gets left behind. Which means we’re all going to the bathroom.” She smiles at Oikawa. “I need to find a water fountain and fill up my Camelbak, anyways.” 

She grabs Oikawa’s wrist, and Oikawa grabs Hajime’s until all five of them are wading through the crowd in one long human chain. Tiffany expertly navigates through the venue and takes them downstairs to the basement.

Hajime and Kevin sit on a bench and wait for Kim and Oikawa to go to the bathroom while Tiffany finds water. After a few minutes, Tiffany returns with their hydration supply, and Kim shows up not long after, but Oikawa somehow takes longer than Kim, who had to wait in the line for the women’s restroom that is now snaking into the hallway. Fifteen minutes later, Oikawa finally emerges from the bathroom. 

“What the fuck took you so long?” Hajime demands.

“I was making friends! Look!” Oikawa proudly thrusts out his right arm that has five new bracelets.

“God, Shittykawa, can’t you do anything normally like the rest of us,” Hajime sighs.

“Mean!” Oikawa shakes a kandi-clad wrist in Hajime’s face. “The point of raves is to make friends!”

“I thought it was for the music.”

“It can be both!” Oikawa sticks his tongue out. “Alright, let’s go back upstairs!” He’s nearly jumping with excitement, and Hajime can’t bring himself to be annoyed about it. 

They end up somewhere in the middle of the crowd, close enough to the stage to get a good view of the visuals but far enough back to not get blocked by the people in front of them. There’s an opener playing, but Hajime is too distracted by the feeling of Oikawa pressed up against him in the packed audience to pay attention.

The opener finishes up his set and the room goes dark. Apart from the crowd chatter, it’s silent. Then the stage lights turn on, creating an ocean of blue over the sea of people. The first sound—a single piano note followed by an electronic synth—rings out with an accompanying strobe, and the crowd cheers. More notes fill the auditorium as the intro plays, and the energy buzzes with anticipation. 

Suddenly, the beat drops, and the crowd goes _batshit wild_. Fifteen-foot high sparks shoot on stage, the auditorium lights up with dozens of green strobes, and thousands of people sing along.

_I could never find the right way to tell you_

_Have you noticed I’ve been gone_

_‘Cause I left behind the home that you made me_

_But I will carry it along_

Hajime vaguely recalls Oikawa’s obsession with the song their last year of high school and said Oikawa screams into his ear. 

“What?!” Hajime screams back.

Oikawa grabs his shoulder and leans closer. 

“I said, this is my favorite song!”

“I know,” Hajime replies, “I think this is the only song I know.”

“You’re so basic,” Oikawa teases, throwing a sweat-slicked arm around Hajime’s shoulders. It’s kind of gross, but Hajime is also soaked, and there are so many people pressed against them right now that it doesn’t matter. 

“You’re so stiff, Iwa-chan. You gotta dance!”

“I don’t dance.”

“It’s easy, you just jump and down to the beat. Dance with me!”

Before Hajime can protest, Oikawa grabs his hands and raises them into the air. The beat drops again, and Hajime throws his head back and laughs as he and Oikawa frantically jump as a tangle of limbs. 

Hajime is _having fun._ Drunk off his ass with his best friend, college roommate, and classmates, dancing with reckless abandon in a dark auditorium where he’s just a faceless body in a sea of people, where he doesn’t have to feel shame or embarrassment for just having fun, where his actions don’t have consequences. He loses himself in the music, feels the bass shake in his bones, and smiles up at Oikawa, the beat thumping against his ribs in time with his heartbeat. 

At some point, he feels a smaller hand touch his arm and he looks down at Kim. 

“Do you feel it yet?” Kim yells in his direction.

“Feel what?” 

“The drugs!”

Right. They took drugs. Hajime pulls his eyes back to the stage and _oh._

_He feels it._

The screens fill with LED flames and smoke, and the strobe lights alternate blue and yellow in sync with the heavy kick of the drums. Hajime has never experienced color like this, where he can _feel_ the air on his skin change as the strobes wash over him. He inhales and it feels like he’s experiencing oxygen for the first time like he’s been holding his breath his whole life and he can finally fill his lungs with air. 

Streamers fall from the ceiling, and when Hajime turns to meet Oikawa’s eyes, he sees wide pupils, blackness overpowering warm brown irises. 

“Iwa-chan, I—”

“I know,” Hajime whispers, “I feel it too.”

“Holy shit…” Oikawa silently mouths. He touches Hajime’s bicep and his eyes grow impossibly bigger. “Fuck, your arms are _so nice.”_

Hajime doesn’t even feel embarrassed because _fuck_ if his arms feel nice then having Oikawa wrap his strong fingers around him feels like ecstasy. He laughs—no, he _fucking giggles_ , and Oikawa mirrors the expression, a small smile gracing his lips, hands still on Hajime’s skin. Hajime hopes that Oikawa will never let go. 

Suddenly, the stage goes dark and the beat gets more erratic, and the only thing Hajime can see in the darkness is white lasers flashing everywhere. 

“FUCK!” he involuntarily yells. He instinctively headbangs to the rhythm, body dancing out of control, Oikawa grabbing one arm and Kim grabbing the other, the entire group jumping up and down. Hajime has never felt as happy and carefree as he is at this moment.

Eventually, Porter Robinson and Madeon transition into a slower song, and an aura of soft blue settles. Tiffany takes this as a moment to fulfill her rave mom duties, and she shoves the Camelbak mouthpiece into everyone’s mouths. She whips out a tiny jar, and Hajime accepts a cool, tingling swipe against his upper lip. When he breathes in, he’s overwhelmed by a heady chill and it feels like _the best thing ever._

“What’s that?” Oikawa asks.

“Tiger Balm. Shit, Oikawa, it feels _so good,”_ Hajime slurs.

“Let me smell!” Without warning, Oikawa leans in _so fucking close_ that Hajime can count his eyelashes. His lungs feel stuck (what the fuck is the point of Tiger Balm if he can’t breathe) and he stands frozen, holding his breath. Oikawa pauses, rivulets of sweat dripping down his neck and pooling in his collarbones. 

Suddenly, the stage erupts in fireworks again and the trance is broken.

Hajime jerks back, and his face feels impossibly hot but maybe it’s because of the seven thousand dancing ravers packed into a single room. Oikawa huffs a laugh—one of the fake ones when he’s trying to play it cool. He leans past Hajime. 

“Hey Tiffany, can I get some of that Tiger Balm too?” 

They continue dancing, but Hajime can’t keep his eyes off Oikawa. He looks so carefree, happy, _radiant,_ as he sways under the flashing lights. Hajime tries to sear the image of Oikawa, smiling and dancing and alive, bathed in glowing blue-green, into his brain. He wants to hold onto this moment forever. 

“Hey Hajime, this is Japanese right?” Kevin yells in his direction. 

Hajime focuses on the lyrics and is surprised to notice that it is indeed his native language.

“What’s it saying?” Kevin asks.

“Watashi wa choudo nani ga juuyou ka mitsukeyou toshite iru.”

“Dude, I meant like, in English. What does it mean?”

“Oh,” Hajime thinks for a second, trying to translate. “I’m just trying to find what is important. It is a way to lose track of life of their own.” His eyes never leave Oikawa.

Suddenly, he notices Kim to his left wobbling a little more than what would be considered normal under tipsy standards. She squats down on the floor, and Tiffany immediately follows to check on her. Hajime, Oikawa, and Kevin use their massive bodies to back up and create a protective circle around the girls. 

“Fuuuck. I don’t feel so good,” Kim groans into her hands.

“Here, drink some water.” Tiffany tries to shove the spout into Kim’s mouth.

Kim suppresses a gag and covers her mouth with an arm. “Shit, I’m gonna hurl,” she mumbles.

“Shit shit shit shit shit okay we gotta get out of here,” Kevin yells, panic rising in his voice. 

Hajime, used to dealing with Oikawa’s antics for over a decade, can handle this. Sure, he’s drunk off his ass and his brain is flooded with serotonin right now, but he can do this. He hauls Kim up and supports her weight, and Tiffany leads the way through the crowd. They make it into the lobby just in time to reach a trash can, which Kim promptly pukes into. 

She empties the entirety of her stomach, and then some more. After a few minutes of nonstop vomiting, Hajime starts to get worried—he’s no stranger to throwing up after one too many drinks, but most people should feel better after puking once or twice. But Kim’s head a near-permanent fixture in the trash can, and Hajime knows she’s in trouble. 

“We need to find paramedics. She might have alcohol poisoning.” 

Tiffany’s eyes go wide. “I know where they are—third floor. Let’s go.” 

Kevin throws Kim’s arms over his shoulders, trying to help her to her feet. “Can you stand?”

Kim makes an attempt, but her legs immediately crumple under her weight.

“Shit, there’s no way she can make it up the stairs,” Kevin says as he scoops under her body and carries her. 

After a few minutes of Oikawa charming the security guards, they’re crammed in the private employees-only elevator. They quickly find the paramedic tent and Hajime groans. 

He forgot that half of his physiology classmates and every goddamn pre-med volunteers with the local concert EMT organization.

“Hajime! Holy shit, what are you doing here?” Sam, he thinks to himself. This is an EMT and, regrettably, a classmate who Hajime is 70% sure is named Sam.

Hajime gestures to his mesh shirt and glitter. “What does it look like I’m doing here?”

“Haha, for sure,” probably-Sam laughs, “I guess I just didn’t peg you as a raver.”

“I’m not,” he replies flatly.

“Fair enough. I guess no one makes it through UC Irvine without at least one rave.” Sam checks Kim’s vitals. “Don’t worry, we’ll take care of her. She’s fine—just needs to puke it all out. We’ll give her some Gatorade, and she can rest a bit before we discharge her.” 

“Thank you,” Hajime nods.

“Only two people can stay with her, though. The rest of you will have to wait until the show’s over, and then you can all head home.” 

Kevin and Tiffany immediately volunteer, and the trio is whisked away into the tent.

“Well, what now?” Hajime says to their retreating backs and turns to Oikawa. “Do you want to see the rest of the set?”

“Nah,” Oikawa shakes his head. “It doesn’t feel right while the rest of us are in a med tent.”

Oikawa once again charms a staff member to let them use the elevator, and they wait out the next hour in the basement. Hajime’s coming down from the high, and he’s at that stage of drunk where his eyelids feel heavy, so he leans his head back against the wall and closes his eyes for a second.

When he opens his eyes again, he realizes that Oikawa is shaking his shoulder.

“Iwa-chan. _Iwa-chaaaaaan.”_

He rubs his eyes and his cheeks flush when he sees his sleeping position, head rested on Oikawa’s shoulder. He notices a few new bracelets—only Oikawa could manage to make friends while Hajime was passed out on his shoulder.

“The show’s over. Tiffany texted me—Kim’s good to be discharged,” Oikawa says softly

“Is she okay?”

“Yeah, she’s fine now. We just gotta find them and get home.” 

Hajime’s chest aches when he hears Oikawa call his shitty dorm room on this American college campus thousands of miles away from Japan _home_. 

The group reunites and pile into their second UberXL of the night, this time with Hajime and Oikawa crammed in the backseat. The ride back to campus is quiet, the nighttime glow of Orange County stretching out in an expanse that feels infinite. Oikawa falls asleep against Hajime’s shoulder this time, and Hajime lets him stay there, watching the passing lights cast long shadows against Oikawa’s face—calm, peaceful, natural, without one of his signature smirks or sneers. Hajime thinks this is his favorite version of Oikawa. Unguarded, raw, and honest. Their bodies press against each other, arm against arm, leg against leg, the tips of their fingers inches apart. Oikawa unconsciously reaches out and takes Hajime’s hand. Hajime doesn’t pull away. 

They stay like that, hands intertwined, even after they arrive back on campus and Oikawa wakes up. No one says anything, but the others sneak glances at their laced fingers with badly-suppressed smiles. 

“I’m gonna stay with Kim tonight, just to make sure she’s okay,” Kevin says once it comes time to part ways. Hajime considers the fact that Tiffany is Kim’s roommate and will be there anyway, but he doesn’t say anything—he’s not going to turn down some privacy. 

The second they get back to Hajime’s dorm room, Oikawa flops on his twin-sized mattress and exhales deeply.

“Oi Shittykawa, what do you think you’re doing?”

“I’m tired,” Oikawa whines. 

“You’re all sweaty and gross and you’re gonna get it all over my sheets.”

“We can deal with it in the morning.”

“Move over then.” Hajime shoves Oikawa who squeals and throws one of his own pillows at him.

They’ve been sharing beds since childhood sleepovers, but as they settle down next to each other, it feels different. Hajime’s veins are electric and he can’t help but count every single point of contact between their bodies. The corner of his shoulder. His entire forearm. The middle of his thigh. The side of his knee. 

“Hey, Hajime?” Oikawa whispers into the darkness.

Oikawa rarely uses his given name—it’s usually _Iwa-chan this_ and _Iwa-chan that_. He only uses _Hajime_ when he’s being serious.

Hajime turns his head to the side to face Oikawa, and Oikawa mirrors him.

“Thank you,” he whispers, his face inches from Hajime’s. “For tonight.”

Hajime just nods, his throat tight. “Anytime.”

Oikawa’s eyes take on a mischievous glint in the darkness. “Does that mean you’re coming with me to more raves?”

“Absolutely not.” Hajime pokes Oikawa’s ribs right where he knows he’s ticklish, making Oikawa squirm and giggle, and Hajime snorts, and they scuffle for a few seconds. Somewhere in the back of his mind, Hajime thinks about how they’re rubbing grime and glitter into his sheets and making a disgusting mess for tomorrow-Hajime to deal with.

Hajime eventually releases Oikawa and he stops squirming, and then they’re back where they started: side by side, facing each other, puffs of breath ghosting warm cheeks. The silence is deafening.

“Maybe,” Hajime finally whispers.

“Maybe what?”

“Maybe I’ll come with you to another rave.”

Oikawa blinks; Hajime swallows. They’re _so close,_ and the seconds drag on—they hold their breath, a silent staredown, daring the other to make the first move, and Hajime thinks _please do it, I want you, I need you, I—_

It’s Oikawa who closes the gap, and when their lips meet, Hajime forgets about the glitter on his pillow and the sweat on his sheets. All he knows is the soft press of Oikawa’s mouth against his, something so familiar yet so new. Hajime has seen this mouth giving pep talks before matches, screaming his name on the court, scarfing down two bowls of ramen after they lost the Interhigh prelims. 

And ultimately, that’s all this is—two normal mouths and two normal boys, bodies that Hajime has memorized over a decade and a half of friendship. But this, right here and right now, makes him feel higher than ecstasy. 

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading this ridiculous rave fic (that might have been inspired by true events)  
>   
> Kudos and comments are very appreciated and keep me going on rough days :’)


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